


I Have Killed a Man for Wounding Me

by Callmesalticidae



Series: There is Nothing (to fear) [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Hogwarts House Sorting, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Tom Riddle was sorted into Gryffindor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-06-23 14:14:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15608064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callmesalticidae/pseuds/Callmesalticidae
Summary: The Potters are dead. There is nothing to fear.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The notes for this story will appear at the end of the final chapter.

 

> “You wives of Lamech, give heed to my speech, for I have killed a man for wounding me; and a boy for striking me.”
> 
> Genesis 4:23b (New American Standard Bible)

Between seeing the news, laid out in Daily Prophet ink as though it were just another report, and his arrival on the premises, Sirius’ memory was a blur. He did not travel to Paddock House so much as he found himself there, standing on the edge of the Potter family’s property just beyond the anti-apparition ward.

Ministry wizards bustled to and fro beyond that line, collecting physical remains and magical signatures in a process which Sirius himself had assisted with in the past, but which now seemed as alien and indecipherable as the rituals of a foreign culture from halfway across the world. Dimly, he perceived what was going on, but he could not really comprehend it. Sirius had eaten Sunday roast with them just a couple of days before. He could still taste it on his lips, the beef ribs and potatoes, the redcurrant jelly, the cauliflower and cheddar cheese sauce. The stupid jokes which James made, the business stories that Fleamont told, and Euphemia’s little anecdotes that were historical trivia as much as they were the gossip of long-dead generations.

All gone, and now the thought of roast had the taste of ashes in his mouth, like the black dust and wreckage that littered the scene before him.

Sirius didn’t realize that he was walking closer until a Ministry employee held out a hand to stop him. “I’m an auror too, dammit, let me through!” he cried, but he was held back by another wizard behind him.

“Sirius, no, you shouldn’t. There’s nothing to see,” someone said, but Sirius twisted out of his grip and stumbled a few feet further before a lack of balance brought him down to his knees. The premises were black as far as he could see in every direction but north, where the destruction terminated at a stretch of twisted metal that might have been a fence once. Beneath him, the remains felt like coarse grains of sand and bits of charcoal, and it filled his nose with a musky scent like bangers and gammon, burnt hair, and copper. His stomach roiled and its contents threatened to come up as the scene continued to assault his senses.

Then the other wizard put a hand on his shoulder--lightly, rather than in any way that suggested that someone might try to draw him away again. It was a lifeline of sorts, and Sirius lifted a hand to meet it, though he couldn’t close his eyes or take them away from what they beheld. “There was a reason they didn’t call you for this one,” said the wizard, whose voice Sirius finally recognized.

“Fudge,” said Sirius, only half-cognizant that he was speaking. “DMAC.” They’d met a few times before, in circumstances no better than this one. Work for the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes was like that, with much of the horror of the auror corps and none of the glamour.

“That’s right,” Fudge said. “Now let’s get out of here. You haven’t eaten, I’ll bet. Up and at ‘em, lad, and let your fellows do their work.”

It took a little more coaxing, but Fudge was eventually able to lead him beyond the wards and side-along him to the man’s house. With Sirius in tow it took a couple of apparitions, but as Fudge had said after the first stop, “By Merlin, the day I can’t make a trip to Kent without having a lie-down, I’ll hang up my hat.”

“Fudge,” said Sirius while the man ushered him into the sitting room, but Fudge immediately cut him off.

“I told you already: it’s Cornelius to my friends,” he said as Sirius allowed himself to be guided to a comfortable old armchair by the hearth.

Sirius let that sit in his thoughts for a moment. “But we’re not friends,” he said hesitatingly.

“We are, at least as of today,” came the reply from the kitchen, and that was that, for it was clear by Cornelius’ tone that he would brook no further argument on the matter. “By Merlin, a man ought to have everyone be his friend in a time like this. Hm. No meats, I think,” Cornelius added, but the meaning of his comment became apparent in moments when he came out with a couple of mugs of tea and a floating platter of berries, mushrooms, and beans. Cornelius set it all between them and took a seat on a rocking chair that he accio’d over. “The missus would give a terrible fit if she knew we were taking our meal in the sitting room, but she’s out, you know, so I don’t think we’ll have any problems there.”

“Fud--,” Sirius started, but he corrected himself. “Cornelius. Thank you,” he said softly. “Are you sure that they won’t be missing you at...there?”

Cornelius shrugged, then shook his head and took up his tea. “Lemon balm,” he said. “It’s soothing. I like to keep a couple gallons of it warm and ready for when I get back from the job, work being what… Oh, but I’m sure that we can find better topics to cover. I seem to recall that you purchased a place in Bristol. Are you still living there, or have you found a nice young woman to steal your heart away?”

For the first time that morning, Sirius found himself able to smile. “Quite a few nice young women, though not at the same time,” he replied. “Usually,” he added with a deepening smirk.

“Well,” said Cornelius. His expression tightened, then relaxed with an air of sympathy. “Do be sure to settle down when you can. I can’t say for myself, but I have had some friends who were of the profligate disposition, and by their report all that running around can be tiring. One day you’ll be too old to manage it.” Cornelius summoned another cup of tea. “You will appreciate the stability as well. Why, Agnes Smethwyck, in my department…” and Cornelius proceeded to try his hand at matchmaking.

Sirius permitted it for a little while, out of gratitude as much as for the distraction, but it couldn’t last forever. On his arm, the Mark began to burn.


	2. Chapter 2

The Mark was painful, but Sirius had overcome greater suffering than this before. It was merely being insistent, not demanding, and Sirius had no difficulty speaking with a level voice when he begged Cornelius’ pardon and excused himself.  
  
“I should check in on a friend of mine. Thank you for looking after me, Cornelius, but I’m afraid I’ve been self-centered. Remus will have a harder time of it than me,” he said, and the terrible thing was that it was all true. He really should have gone to see Remus rather than apparate to the Potters’ house. Still, though, what was done was done, and Sirius would have to wait to rectify his mistake.  
  
“Oh, well, if you’re sure,” Cornelius said, his voice still full of concern for Sirius. “You mustn’t neglect yourself for the sake of others, however. Shove a bezoar down your throat first, before you put it down your companion’s.”  
  
“I’ll keep that in mind, Cornelius, but I really should go. Thank you again.”  
  
“No trouble at all, Sirius. I’ll be seeing you,” he said as he opened the door for Sirius.  
  
“At the Leaky Cauldron, perhaps. A drink for a drink is a good way to pay you back, I think,” Sirius replied before disapparating.  
  
The flat to which he traveled had once carried an Undetectable Extension Charm but that had proven very tricky to enter by apparition, a trait that was useful under some circumstances but more troublesome under those which were more likely to occur. Hospitality meant nothing, surely, if it did not mean that guests should be able to visit without splinching themselves across the room on a regular basis.  
  
It was intensely cramped now, small enough that Sirius could see the whole flat at once, but when apparition was at one’s fingertips it could be said that the whole country was just a few steps away. Much of the floor was taken up by expanded trunks filled with books and assorted trinkets and artifacts, and then there was a cot in the corner and a few chairs and a table for work. This was not a place where Tom Riddle lived so much as one where he stayed.  
  
Augustus Rookwood was there when Sirius arrived, which was only to be expected. He was a frequent attendant of Riddle’s, and was often used when another Death Eater needed to be called. As soon as Sirius appeared, though, he gave a parting nod to Riddle, sitting across from him at the table, and disapparated from his chair.  
  
“I’m s-sorry for my lateness. I was with company,” he stammered, but Riddle waved it off and gestured to the seat which Rookwood had vacated. Riddle offered him a mug of hot chocolate, which Sirius took gratefully. It was always a hair too chilly in Riddle’s flat, and he had more need of chocolate now than he usually did.  
  
Riddle’s expression was uneasy. “I heard about James,” he said, and Sirius noticed that there was a folded-up copy of the Prophet on the table, beside a plate of rye bread and cheese. “I won’t pretend that my condolences can do anything for you; we are all family to each other, but you and James were brothers even before you joined us. There is no replacing that bond.”  
  
Sirius merely nodded, not trusting himself to speak.  
  
“I would not have called you only to supply you with platitudes,” continued Riddle, and his expression hardened. “There is something more important for me to tell you: Augustus has discovered the ones responsible for murdering James and his parents.”  
  
“Who was it?” he growled, and then, “How? It was just last night. And the news has only been out for a few hours.”  
  
Riddle gave a small shrug. “Works done in darkness must surely be brought to light. There is nothing hidden that will not be revealed to us, and as it turns out the ones responsible have been, ah, less than circumspect about hiding their involvement, and exercised loose tongues before they went to ground.”  
  
“Who. Was. It?” Sirius ground out through his teeth, forgetting himself. He flinched upon realizing it, but Riddle paid no heed to the disrespect.  
  
“Your cousin, Bellatrix. Her husband, Rodolphus. His brother, Rabastan,” said Riddle, and each pronouncement hit Sirius like a bludger to the chest. He would have preferred someone whose name he didn’t know, who wasn’t family...who didn’t hold a grudge against him.  
  
“Are you sure?” he said, almost choking on the words.   
  
“You know that I cannot reveal my sources, Sirius, but I can assure you that I have verified this intelligence personally,” answered Riddle, and he tapped a finger near his right eye to emphasize his words. Riddle was an accomplished legilimens, and however dodgy the original hunch had been, Sirius could trust his final conclusion. “It was them,” Riddle said again.  
  
“I-It was  _me_ ,” he muttered, and Riddle nodded sadly.  
  
“That seems to be case, as much as I regret to say so. It appears that Bellatrix never forgave the Potters for taking you in and now, with the political situation a tinderbox and tensions running high, she must have chosen to do something about it. And it was she who chose,” Riddle said firmly. “Do not punish yourself for this.”  
  
“But I--”  
  
Riddle shook his head. “Do not punish yourself,” he repeated. “Punish  _them_. Avenge James.” He stood and walked around the table to put a hand on Sirius’ shoulder. “The Potters were a neutral family, your brother’s private allegiance to the cause notwithstanding, and for the Lestranges to do this to one of ours is an insult which  _must not_  be taken casually.” Riddle gave a silent flourish of his wand, and two bundles flew out of a cabinet on the other side of the room.  
  
He handed one of the bundles to Sirius, who slowly unwrapped the black robes to reveal the mask inside: white as porcelain and featureless, the same as every other. He placed the mask against his face with delicate care and breathed out a sigh of relief. Behind the mask, Sirius did not exist. There was no him. There was no one at all behind any of these masks, only the great work in which they were all engaged together, and they would never die so long as there was another to take up the mask.  
  
Sirius had sat down at the table but it was a Death Eater who rose up from it.  
  
“Come,” said the other Death Eater. “Under cover of disillusionment, and in anticipation of our arrival, our brothers and sisters are preparing Anti-Apparition and Silencing Charms. The Lestranges will not escape our justice.”


	3. Chapter 3

Tom had said they had been talking about what they had done, and the idea made Sirius clench his wand hard enough to hurt his fingers. He could imagine how they might still be gloating about it, speaking in stage whispers in some dark corner, remarking on how sad it was that a family of purebloods had betrayed their heritage, and how marvelous it was that they had finally gotten what was coming to them. Sirius could almost hear her snear. He had heard it often enough before. 

“Do you understand what we will be doing?” asked the other Death Eater, his voice carrying a lifeless, discordant tone that was so far from Riddle’s usual warmth. Another layer of protection granted by their masks, so that they could not betray themselves merely by speaking. “This is a crime which Britain will not be able to ignore. When the Ministry condemns our retaliation, the people will be forced to take sides and there will, at last, be no neutral parties.”

“I understand,” Sirius said, and the other Death Eater briefly clasped his shoulders once more.

“Then let us be of good cheer, my brother. This is the day that the war begins in earnest. We will always be full of sorrow when we think of yesterday, but for today there will only be rejoicing.” 

A hand was offered to him and Sirius took it in his own before he was pulled along through space and non-space more. Immediately upon his arrival, even before the momentary disorientation of apparition had vanished, he could feel the ward run over him like warm water as the anti-apparition charms took effect over the area. The Lestranges would likely have felt it as well.

They had arrived on the front lawn of a squat, two-floor house with black and tan bricks. Roses and various shrubs decorated the path leading to the front door, and it was flanked on one side by a small garage with a sloping, black roof. “The Lestranges thought we would never believe that they would take shelter in a muggle residence, but we are not so foolish as to be taken in by such poor misdirection,” said the other Death Eater, then he gestured to the door and Sirius blew it off the hinges and into fragments with an  _expulso_.

Amid the swirling dust and emerging shouts, the two of them strode through with wands at the ready. There was a family of dead muggles in the front room, one of whom was being levitated upside-down as his blood collected in a dish below him. Rodolphus was there, observing the corpse with a glassy expression, but his brother and Bellatrix entered from the kitchen and the Lestranges quickly joined in battle.

“Sagitto!” “Circa repercutit!” “Impedimento!”

The effect of an Arrow-Shooting Spell was feeble but prolific: the incantation needed to be spoken but once, and then every subsequent flick of the wand could loose another arrow. A simple protego was sufficient to block them all but it cost a moment’s attention, enough that Sirius missed Rabastan’s casting of a Rebounding Curse and gave little notice as it passed over his shoulder. Only his companion’s intervention saved him, as a levitated couch interrupted the curse while it was returning to hit him in the back.

“Depulso! Expulso!” he shouted. Wood broke, bones snapped, and Sirius persisted in his assault. Beside him, his companion lent assistance with movements that were so self-assured that they were almost lazy.

“Oppugno,” and a swarm of glass coffee mugs flew out and shattered on Rodolphus’ face. “Levioso,” and a table flipped in the air in time to intercept a jinx that Sirius didn’t recognize. “Oppugno,” once more: wood splinters and glass shards rose around Bellatrix like a swarm of angry bees.

“Depulso! Expulso!”cried Sirius, and in response Rodolphus fired off a volley of cramping curses in his direction. Rodolphus’ aim was poor, though, and he was favoring his left leg. He was slowing down, slipping, as blood dripped from a hundred cuts on his face, and Sirius feinted with a movement toward Rabastan before he redirected his wand back at Rodolphus and performed a trick which he had learned from Flitwick only months before: “Depulso! Accio! Finite!”

To cast a series of complementary spells in order to achieve some effect which was beyond any of them alone was to perform a “marriage,” or so it was called by duelists. The banishing charm threw Rodolophus back with great force. The Summoning Charm called him back and, aimed properly as they were, the tension between the two forces snapped his neck with a crack. Lastly, the counter-spell canceled the others so that he fell to the ground rather than collide with Sirius.

“Jehache! Cluthe!” Rabastan cast, even as the animated debris turned its attention to him as well. Sirius deflected the Woodsman’s Curse, sending off to chop through the upper floor and rafters before its energy was expended, then dodged the Leg-Cramping Curse entirely.

“Confringo!” roared Sirius, and the curse tore a deep hole into the floor beside Rabastan. “Confringo!” he cast again, and this time the curse hit its mark and what was left of Rabastan splattered against the wall. Then he heard the cry of “Impedimento” and found himself lifted off his feet, drifting, falling through the air, moving so slowly… He saw Bellatrix flick her wand like a whip, and a rope of fire extended forth from it.

“Finite, finite,” Sirius tried to say, but his voice was slurred and time was stretched out and he even finish the first syllable in the time that it took for Bellatrix to incant her own spell.

Bellatrix sneered and her  _flagella flammum_  was raised to strike him, even as Sirius continued to fall forever, like he was slipping through an eternal pit of molasses, and then--

“Carpe retractum!”

\--another rope wrapped around him, a cord of light that drew him back beyond Bellatrix’s reach and kept him safe for the precious seconds that he needed for the spell to wear off.

This time he maintained the pressure, steadily advancing and pushing her back into the kitchen while every syllable which he pronounced was part of a chain of spells that issued out of his wand without relief and shattered shield after shield.

“Francorum ascia!”

“Protego Magni!”

“Francorum ascia!”

“P-Protego Magni!”

Some wizards never got the hang of casting any of the more complex shield charms. Bellatrix, like Sirius himself, was competent but only just so. The greater shield charms took effort from her and strained her concentration, with flawed results that might stand up against most of his curses, and even stand up against a  _confringo_  with more ease than he could cast one, but could only sputter and fail against a well-cast Shield-Breaking Charm.

“Francorum ascia!"

“Protego...M-Magni!” she cast again, stumbling over the words as exhaustion both mental and physical began to creep up on her, and the flickering shield that she produced was insufficient even against the light expulso which Sirius aimed at her wand-hand. It took her wand. It took her hand.

He approached her slowly, wary that she might have a contingency plan hidden up her sleeve, but all her attention was on the mangled stump where her arm abruptly terminated. As his shadow fell upon her, though, she turned her face and regarded him with a strange look in her eyes.

“Sirius?” she whispered. “Sirius! I knew it! I knew you had betrayed us, you dishonorable, tainted…”

Her shouting was cut short as Sirius’ companion removed his mask. “Blood traitor? Hm.” With a jab of his wand, Riddle bound Bellatrix from neck to knee in heavy ropes. He turned to Sirius. “If her reputation, and that scene out in the front, are anything to go by, Bellatrix has some experience with the Dark Arts. It would only be appropriate for her to become acquainted with the receiving end of that kind of magic, I think.” Riddle put a finger to his chin as though he were thinking it over, though he had surely made a decision before began speaking. “Perhaps she would benefit from the cruciatus,” he said at last.

Sirius trembled. He attempted to speak but couldn’t make a sound.

“Do not fear, my brother. I am here,” Riddle said even as he took Sirius’ wand-hand in his own and slowly lifted it so that the tip of Sirius’ wand was aimed directly at Bellatrix’s forehead. “You have heard fools call it Unforgivable and so you cannot bring yourself to cast it, but has she not committed a crime which is, itself, unforgivable?”

“I…” Sirius said. With his free hand he removed the mask from his face.

“It is said that there is no pain most intense than the cruciatus, but you have lost a brother,” Riddle said softly. “Tell me, Sirius, as one who has experienced both forms of suffering, which is the greater?”

“I…” The mask slipped from his shaking, sweaty fingers.

“My cousin is weak,” Bellatrix spat. “You’re wasting your time, you half-muggle scum.”

“She hurt you, Sirius. Repay that debt. Give her what she deserves. Cast the spell,” Riddle hissed, and Bellatrix cackled, and Sirius…

“Crucio.”

But Bellatrix only laughed harder. “Is that the best you can do? Are you tickling me? Your blood traitor friend couldn’t hurt me either.”

“You have to  _mean_ it,” Riddle said. “She killed James. Remember what you saw when you went to the Potters. Remember the destruction. Your best friend is dead and you will never see him again and it’s all because of her. Bellatrix deserves this, she deserves everything that you can do to her.”

Bellatrix smirked, no longer cradling her injured arm. “His father, now, he put up a bit of a fight…”

“Crucio!”

She yelped in pain, then laughed derisively. Riddle’s eyes burned with a dull red glow as he whispered in Sirius’ ear. “Again.”

“Crucio!”

The laughter turned to hoarse screaming.

“Crucio!”

“S-Sirius,  _please_!”

“Crucio!”

She pleaded. She bargained. She went silent, then screamed again. She offered him everything. She called out for her mother and then, in desperate and tormented tones, her father. Sirius hardly noticed. It was as though he were only watching from a distance, and everything was being done by someone else.

“Crucio!”

At last, she only babbled.

“Meda? Not m...” she gasped, sounding distressed and confused. “Thiriuth?” she mumbled, and her eyes held neither hatred nor fear but a kind of acceptance, and it was finally too much.

Sirius sank to his knees. His wand fell out of his hand and rolled away on the floor.

“James would be  _so proud_ of you,” Riddle said, but Sirius could only nod and weep. “His murder has been avenged.”

_Justice_ , thought Sirius.  _This was justice_ , but he couldn’t tell whether his own thought was a statement or a question.

“Thiriuth.”

“James,” he muttered, no longer really seeing what was in front of him.

Tears ran down Sirius’ cheeks, and Riddle placed a hand on each of his shoulders and gave a comforting squeeze. “There is no death. Nothing is destroyed, but everything is changed. The fire consumes us, but we are the fire.  _There is no death_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cornelius Fudge is Junior Minister for the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, as he was in canon around this time. He was called to the scene when Pettigrew killed thirteen muggles, because the destruction of a whole street qualified as a magical catastrophe and/or because the Obliviators are a division of DMAC and the witnesses needed to be obliviated. I decided that both would be true for the purposes of TIN(tf)’s universe, so that Fudge would have a reason to be on the scene and to be acquainted with Sirius.
> 
> Augustus Rookwood’s blood status in canon is unknown, so he’s a half-blood in TIN(tf). As an Unspeakable, it’s plausible that he would care more about the Dark Arts than blood purity, which is why he’s fallen in Riddle’s camp in this AU.
> 
> Riddle’s final words, which might be thought of as a kind of Death Eater proverb, is drawn from a line in a Jorge Luis Borges story: “Time is the substance I am made of. Time is a river which sweeps me along, but I am the river; it is a tiger which destroys me, but I am the tiger; it is a fire which consumes me, but I am the fire.” It’s a guilty and secret pleasure of his, because Borges is a muggle and Riddle is, as a reader on Spacebattles noticed, a magical supremacist (albeit of a different stripe to Grindelwald), but Riddle enjoys his work.
> 
> There is an arrow-shooting spell in canon, but its incantation and “repeating” quality are original.
> 
> The following spells are original:
> 
> * Circa Repercutit (Rebounding Curse) - A useful spell when fighting someone who is unfamiliar with it or just isn’t paying attention. It bounces off the first thing that it hits and does not become dangerous until then.  
> 
> * Francorum Ascia (Shield-Breaking Charm) - The incantation refers to the throwing-axes of the Franks, which were used to break the shields of their enemies.  
> 
> * Jehache (Woodsman’s Curse) - The origin of its name is unclear. Some say it was originally used by woodcutters, while others say that it was used by the Woodsman of Little Red Riding Hood to kill the story’s werewolf antagonist.  
> 
> * Protego Magni - One of many variations of Protego.


End file.
